


Push and Pull

by yuletide_archivist



Category: Duran Duran
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-12-20
Updated: 2008-12-20
Packaged: 2018-01-25 08:38:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1641932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuletide_archivist/pseuds/yuletide_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I swear to God, you were really pushing it tonight, Charlie."<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	Push and Pull

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Cori Lannam

 

 

"I swear to God, you were really pushing it tonight, Charlie."

"Pushing it? Why, whatever do you mean, Johnny?"

Simon's all-too innocent reply belied the mischievous gleam in his gaze. The devilish sparkle there never changed, not even as the years had creased the corners of his eyes, left other telltale marks in their wake. He reminded John of an old, overgrown cherub, one who had perhaps seen the world a few too many times around, but still had endless tricks and surprises up his well-tailored sleeves.

John stepped in closer, his breathing still labored from the exertion of the night's performance. Sweat made him blink wet strands of hair from his eyes, and he could taste the salt and running makeup on his lips. Soon enough, though, that wouldn't be the only thing he was tasting, at least not if he had any say in the matter.

And he ususally did.

"Come off it, you old prat. You know exactly what I mean."

"No, I'm quite certain I don't. Do tell."

John couldn't quite decide which desire was greater within him at that moment: to knock the look of smug satisfaction off Simon's face, or to just knock him back against the dressing room wall and do other things to him - the things Simon had tormented him with suggesting all night on-stage.

It was the way Simon danced and moved, grinding and thrusting with abandon as the women screamed their heads off in the arena. The way he would then slide up against John, all sex and heat and desire under the glare of the stage lights. He would rub up against John's back and the audience would erupt in approval; Nick would be there laughing and rolling his eyes at them both while Roger shyly smiled and shook his head, and Andy remained oblivious to it all. Meanwhile, John would arch back to meet the curve of Simon's body and wonder just for whom the singer was really performing - the fans or him. Probably both. Simon was, if nothing else, the ultimate front man, always on, always eager to please, to elicit a reaction.

Well, he certainly had gotten one out of John tonight. None of this had been anything new, but this evening Simon had seemed more driven than usual to get John's attention, to make him crazy with the looks they shared, the touches and innuendo every time they shared a microphone or moved close together to the music. The tour was nearing an end and everything just seemed to be getting more intense as a result of the shortening days left, perhaps from not knowing what would come next, when they would be able to share this passion again. But whatever the reasons, making it through the final encores tonight had been torture, when all John could think about was cornering Simon alone somewhere and getting payback, causing _him_ to be the one screaming and begging for more.

This small dressing room would have to suffice for John's purposes, as there'd be no waiting until they got back to their hotel. The door was locked and there was no audience left to perform for now, no one but him.

And so, he insisted, "No more talking," grabbing Simon's shoulders and going for the kiss he'd been waiting for all night.

Simon's lips were pliant, parting readily for John's assault. For them, this was ritual almost as much as the concert itself. First came the ninety minutes on-stage, an extended foreplay of music, beat, tension, adoration. It was all a build-up to these frenzied moments backstage, riding on a wave of energy and a high far better than any chemical substance known to man could ever provide.

John's fingers sought to do away with the clothes keeping his hands from Simon's skin. He tugged hard at the lapels of his lover's jacket, even as he refused to break their kiss, pushing the sleeves down his arms, enjoying for a moment how they left Simon's hands trapped behind his body.

And Simon seemed to be loving every moment of it, the bastard. He moaned against John's lips, the sound going straight from his ears to his cock, making the ache there almost more than he could bear. He finally paused to take a gasping breath, and there was Simon again, almost laughing even as there was no denying the hunger and need in his eyes.

"What's next...going to tie me down, have your wicked ways with me?" Simon teased.

"Don't give me ideas," John practically growled, hands going for the buttons of Simon's shirt, so damp it clung to his skin, outlining the smooth muscles of his chest. The months of touring had left them leaner and more toned than at the start, though he loved Simon's body whatever state it was in. Preferably an undressed one, however. Through the walls, John could hear the bustling of the road crew outside, the backstage madness and celebrations. If the others wondered where he and Simon had vanished to, he didn't care. By now he assumed they probably all knew, and knew better than to make an issue of it or think things would ever change between them.

How many times had they done this, through the years? In how many backrooms and tourbuses, hotel suites and private jets? And yet the desire - the need for it, for each other - never grew old. John had been with more women than he could ever count or remember, and half of them he'd grown tired of before they'd even made it back to his hotel.

But never Simon. Not his Charlie. They're gone to hell and back again, several times over, to be honest, yet at the end of the day they always had this, had each other.

Tanned skin exposed beneath the now unbuttoned shirt, John ran his hands up Simon's chest, then cupped his face. He looked hard at the man Simon was today and remembered all the things that had been between them, and knew this was the only place he ever wanted to be. The only place he truly belonged.

"I love you," John said, desire for a moment taking a pause as he needed to voice these words.

And this time Simon really _did_ laugh, but out of joy and not mischief. "I love you too, Johnny, but could we get on with the fucking already? I'm not getting any younger."

"Neither of us are," John agreed. But kissing Simon again, he was perfectly fine with that. Some things really did only get better with time.

 


End file.
